Waderlust and empty pocket books

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Last week, we set out and headed West down 3005; bouncing happily down the highway in our VW Westfalia ‘Peniki’. Our destination…? Lake Belton. We had been planning this trip to Bus Fest for months and months, and I could hardly wait. I spent weeks sewing Hippie Bus applique pillows to donate to the fund raising auction that next day. The only problem — so I thought at the time — was the fact that I hadn’t mapped out our travels until a day or two before we were to leave.

That was the day I felt like the air had been let out of my balloon of enthusiasm. Leave it to me to misjudge the distance of our destination by hundreds (and I mean hundreds) of miles. I was completely deflated! And if I had only seen the zip code that had been right in front of me for months and months, I would’ve realized that the town of Morgan’s Point where the festival was to be held, was not the same Morgan’s Point that is just 40 miles or so from where we live. I would’ve known the event was instead several hundred miles away…one way!

If I had noticed all of this…I wouldn’t have sent in our pre-registration money for the event I had wanted to attend so badly. And…I certainly wouldn’t have made all those lovely pillows to donate to an auction I would never make it to, and as a result…would let some nice folks down. No telling what they thought about me not showing up with my auction items, I pined away for days. But I just can’t worry about that, I finally convinced my weary self.

I knew, deep down, that Peniki wasn’t yet up for such a distance. So…if I had noticed the actual location–or taken the time to look at the map, or plan our route–I never would’ve been so bull headed to think we were ready for such a road trip. Poor Peniki tried the best she could, against the wind all the way. But after getting lost and going 10 miles out of the way, going through half of our very tight travel budget before we were even halfway there, and after Peniki kept trying to stall out on us out in BFE (which wouldn’t be the first time…believe me!), we decided to just cut our losses and turn around.

We had made it not even half way there, and were in some little town called Wallis when Nico looked at me, and I looked at him…and we knew; this trip was not meant to happen. I had been experiencing that dreaded feeling; you know the one that tells you something’s not right about what you’re about to do? Stupid me…! I ignored it and just kept on coarse for our impending travels. Deep down…I felt we shouldn’t go after I realized I had misjudged the distance of our destination so badly.

I just wanted to go hide in a hole somewhere, or in Peniki, and cry. Funny how that feeling of disappointment I felt so often growing up, never seems to feel any better now that I’m grown. Perhaps I’ve never actually grown up in a lot of ways. Planning ahead is probably one of them. But I guess that’s also why the saying goes: With age…Comes wisdom. Seeing on the bright side; this must mean I’m still young at heart. I refuse to think that I might’ve ‘momentarily’ lost my good senses. I often miss the blissful state of ignorance I frequently had when I was younger. Though, I find, it still visits me quite often.